Blackbirds

Tonight, while a friend and I were sitting outdoors and talking till long after the sun went down, a male blackbird hopped across the lawn. He was such a fine fellow! So strong and noble looking with his beautiful yellow beak, and, thinking that the song of blackbirds is one of the most beautiful sounds in all of Nature, some lines from Keats' "Ode to a Nightingale" came to mind:

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird !
No hungry generations tread thee down ;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown :
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn ;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

The birdsong this evening was exquisite! Beautiful, isn't it, how governments come and go, hours of hot air, lies and truths are poured from the mouths of politicians and statesmen and preachers while the birds go on singing the same song, the flowers go on exuding the same scents, the same moon waxes and wanes, the same sun rises and sets throughout the ages, and these things of timeless beauty illustrate the foolishness of listening to any voices that speak of control or of our dependence on some other human power to show us what life means. Comparing the song of the blackbird to the nonsensical lies spouted in government buildings across the world is quite amusing. Where does the real Truth lie and who is really wise? I'd rather be 'away with the fairies' - or birds - any day, than be enchained by the voice that dominates and speaks of doom. Perhaps 'cloud cuckoo land' is more sensible and eternal than all the meaningless routine of living according to the race-mind notion that speaks of regimentation, of being ruled and crushed by financial constraints...The birds aren't controlled by markets and we are, to paraphrase Jesus and all the great spiritual teachers, worth as much as 'hundreds of sparrows.'